Part 8

He, with a few survivors had taken refuge in the subterranean city, where there were chambers just as above ground, and a black well with plenty of water. Only they had no sunlight and some of the women sickened and died. When their enemies had left, they sneaked out and made their way across the desert to the north until they reached the Sierra Madres, on the pinnacles of whose peaks they perched their eyries built of sun dried mud. They carried up handfuls of soil from the valley and plastered it on the ledges, where they raised a little stunted maize. There, in deadly fear of the marauding bands of Lamanites that were wiping out their race, they eked out a miserable existence, a little lower than the beasts.

So outnumbered were they that only by the utmost caution did they manage to live. The rooms were dark as the apertures were small and had to be crawled through by means of rope ladders that they pulled in after them. They had got so used to climbing over the rocks that they sprang among them like goats.

People who exist in daily fear of their lives do not go in for art. So the cave dwellers' implements were crude, their pottery deformed, and their necessities scant. Obsessed with the idea of keeping the life in them from one day to another, they had lost their sense of feeling, when Gualzine came among them. She was sent accompanied by two attendants, from a neighboring cliff dwelling, for safe keeping during time of war. The other cliff house was demolished, so Gualzine took up her abode in the new place. She was the daughter of the High Priest and the last of her blood. A wan, washed out thing, she took little interest in her mediocre surroundings. Time was when she had been beautiful, as her portrait on the wall of the casa of the priests at Teotihuacan could prove. They called it "Queen of Hearts." But grim circumstance will leave its impress on the fairest form.

Though she toiled not, a new impetus evinced itself in the colony. Like the queen bee, others worked for her, and comforts appeared. She showed the boys how to mould their pottery better, and played with the children and hushed their wails, so that their dragged out mother might be less dispondent. She made ready threaded needles out of the thorns and fibers of the maguey that grows on the foothills, and taught the men how to make medicine from its juice. She was eyes to old Malcre when she sewed the skin garments in the poor light, and she cut out better patterns for their sandals. Because she would eat nothing but cooked food, the others gave up their way of eating it half raw. The men brought fresh pine boughs to sleep on, and they hunted up warmer covering because this frail thing had to be protected. When she fell sick it was a dire calamity. All the inmates loved her. Little wonder that Ulric showed such dog-like devotion.

Dropping with exhaustion, every step a pain, he approached Cave Valley. Finally he lost consciousness of his aching muscles; only one nagging instinct whipped him on. He must get to the house with his precious burden, fresh meat and grapes and good water from the Steps. That ought to put her on her feet again. The water was the hardest to carry. He was afraid that he might spill it. She would have liked the big thick bear robe. It would have been so soft while she was sick. Izehara had died and he couldn't bring it. Poor Izahara, up there in the cold. Then the old gnawing fear. What if she were gone and all of his torture were in vain? The thought spurred on his flagging strength, so he stumbled into the valley. Ulric looked towards the cliffs that he called home. In the evening haze he could not distinguish the familiar curl of smoke. Torn by uncertainty, he hurried up the side of the mountain. He stopped short. The growing feeling that something was wrong was realized. What was the matter with the garden? The corn, which was almost ripe, had been trampled down. At the same instant his foot touched something soft. He reached down, then drew back. The boy Kohath lay there with an arrow in his breast, stark dead. He had been shot down while he was carrying wood. Why hadn't they picked him up and carried him in? Cold chills shook him. What if they were all dead? What if the Indians were there now, waiting for him. Where was Gualzine? Cautiously, he crept along the terrace through the maize.

He waited for what to him seemed an age, while the wolves howled in the distance. No sign of life issued from the place. He could stand it no longer. He must find out what had happened to Gualzine. Careless of his own fate, he went down.

The entrance showed signs of a conflict. Chunks of plaster had been dislodged. His people had put up a fight. As little things will often attract attention in dire extremities, so the first thing he noticed on entering, were the dead white ashes scattered on the hearth. Nearby was a broken pot of hominy, partly spilled.

The massacre had taken place the day before. One of the men lay dead by the fireplace, also the thirteen-year-old girl. The marauders would have no object in slaying her. Ulric wondered if she had killed herself. The form he sought wasn't there. He passed into the next room. To do so he had to step over the body of the chief that lay through the doorway, a hatchet cleaving his skull. In her chamber he found Merari decapitated. Dear old Merari, Ulric reflected, her servant, who loved her as much as he. Parts of her pallet were scattered about the room, but Gualzine was not there.

Many of the inhabitants were missing. Old Malcre was gone. She could make good corn cakes. The Indians had a use for her. The other woman with her babe was missing. They also had a use for her. Ulric hoped the child would live. He did not think that Gualzine would be carried off without a struggle, yet, search as he would, he could find no shred's of her cotton clothing. What if she had died before the cliff dwelling was attacked? In times of siege it was the custom to bury the dead beneath the floor. He hastily searched through the house but he found no sign of a recent excavation.

The next morning he renewed the hunt. He found that a number of bodies had been thrown over the cliff. Hopeful, yet dreading, he made the precipitous descent. Her remains were not there, although he felt rewarded for the climb, for there were several bodies of the Lamanites. The Nephites had clutched their antagonists and locked in their embrace, and leaped over the cliff with them to destruction.

II.

Alone.

At first, overwhelmed with the disaster, Ulric did not realize his condition. He spent a number of days burying the dead beneath the floor. He placed their implements of war with them, and at the head he put an olla, containing a little of the corn that was left; over all he put a layer of charcoal and covered it up with earth. Merari's head he placed upon a shelf, saying, "You stay there old fellow, and help me. You and I are great pals. You are the only friend I've got left."

In the after days he realized his utter desolation. At first he clung to life and he bounded over the rocks like a hunted thing. One night a party of Lamanite robbers passed through the valley and he watched them from the cliffs. He looked hungrily down into their camp, but dared not move, for fear that they would shoot. Later, when he got frightened of the solitude, he would have gladly given himself up. He became a perfect coward. Most scared of all was he of the stillness. The mountains made him infinitely lonely; he felt as if the peaks weighed down on his chest and he could not get his breath. He foresaw that he would go insane, which gave rise to a new fear. What would happen to him there among the hills if he lost his reason? He could not journey to his own people, for he knew not if any of them were alive.

It was not so bad when he could get out and hunt, but one day he slipped and sprained his ankle. It swelled up and pained so he could not walk. After that he crawled down to the stream to get his water. A new horror developed. The corn was almost gone. Already he could see the bottom of the big olla in which it was kept. Since he could not get out and hunt food he must surely die.

He began to prepare for the end. He would write his story on the wall in red and blue and yellow hieroglyphics. Future generations should know how he, Ulric, had outlived his compeers. He picked up a chisel. As he struck the wall with it, it resounded hollow. He remembered the limestone cave back of it. Funny he hadn't thought of it before! He grasped his bludgeon, and with what was left of his remaining strength, hit the wall. It took many of his weak blows to cave it in, but he also went down with the earth. Staring straight at him was Gualzine. She sat upon a stone dais. Her body had been preserved by the peculiar atmosphere of the cave. On her shrunken form the cotton cloth hung limp.

Slowly the realization forced itself on Ulric. The queer little men of the caves, determined that the daughter of their High Priest should not fall into the hands of the enemy, had walled her up there when threatened with attack. She was alive when they took her there; perhaps she lived when he returned. He had let her be slowly asphyxiated.

Ulric threw himself at her feet with all the grief that his warped nature would allow. That marked the beginning of the fever. Starvation had prepared him for it, for he had got down to counting the kernels of corn. Perhaps the rotting skull had been a friend indeed and lent its malignant aid.

Alone, with parched lips burning with thirst, with no human being to speed the parting soul, Ulric died.

* * * * * * * * * * *

One of an alien race, exploring the cave, found there the skeleton of a man lying along the wall, a crumbling skull on a ledge above, and a mummy seated on a dais.

He pondered, "What a tale those blackened lips might tell if they could only speak!"

THE CONQUEST OF AIDA.

I.

THE PLOT.

Jared, as he reclined on the roof-garden, looked out over the city basking in the afternoon light. Although it was yet warm, he had stumbled out into the open air from his siesta couch where he had smothered and tried in vain to sleep during the sultry afternoon. There was a discontented look in his eyes as his gaze wandered over the vast extent of the roofs, the palms silhouetted against a pastel sky, to the crystalline peaks in the distance crowned with eternal snow. The nearby stone mansions were resplendent in red-tiled roofs, sun-burnished walls, and purple shadows, while an occasional opening afforded a glimpse of a green courtyard or paved street. Nor could the beauty of his own aerial gardens, a riot of color, with subtile perfume of violets and verbenas, win him from his trouble. The laughter of girls floated up from the pool below, where his daughter Aida with her women, was disporting herself in the water. Unlike less active women, who let an indented pillow in a hammock tell the story of the afternoon's exertions, she preferred violent swimming in the humid plunge.

Wearily he leaned back, as if he found the cushions hard for his emaciated limbs. Jared had once been ruler over this vast domain, and he who has tasted power cannot soon forget the flavor. Lusting for the kingdom, he had dispossessed his old father, King Omer, but his younger brothers had risen up and wrested it from his greedy grasp. They defeated him in open battle, took him captive, and Jared only bought his freedom with the promise that he would never go to war again. After that he found life, shorn of its glory, but a worthless thing.

Evening is unknown in the tropics, for night descends swiftly, shrouding the earth in a black pall. Tonight, for a transitory period, a crescent moon hung in a sapphire sky, a breeze sprang up from the sea, and the city shook off its lethargy. A hum arose as its inhabitants prepared for the traffic and activity of the night. Lights sprang out. A step on the stair and a rustling of the leaves made the man turn to behold the laughing face of Aida, like a lily on its stem above a bed of narcissus.

"Come here to me, daughter," he said fondly, his face lighting up.

She shook out her mane of black hair, which was still wet, and went toward him. Her shoulders and arms emerged like snow from her loose-fitting, black gown, and the dead pallor of her face was relieved only by the scarlet streak of her lips. Her gray eyes were so heavily shrouded that they appeared black. As she knelt before him, her father leaned forward and touched her forehead with his lips.

"Father," she murmured, "it is eating my heart out to see you always so sad."

"I fear I am but a broken shell from which the life has departed," he lamented.

"Can't you shake this depression off?"

"I have tried," he sighed.

"I know it. You will never be yourself again until you are restored to your old place. The throne is yours by right. You are a younger man than Omer, and can manage the affairs of the nation better. You must be king."

"How?" he raised his eyebrows.

As she had watched her father waste away, gnawed by festering ambition, Aida had realized that something must be done or he would die. So she had evolved a plan.

"Listen," she glanced hastily around and lowered her voice. "There is only one thing between you and your lawful right to the throne."

"My father!"

"Then remove it," she hissed.

"You mean kill the king!" He started as if she had surprised his own guilty thought.

"Why not?"

"It is not for a son to spill his father's blood."

"Get someone else to do it."

"And who, in all the realm of the Jaredites would dare?"

"Only one that I know of. The dark and moody Akish could if he wanted to, for he controls the secret societies."

"True," he ruminated, "but he is a friend of Omer's."

"Every man has his price."

"What would his be?" he shrugged his shoulders. "The coffers of Akish are bursting with gold now."

"Tempt him with something else."

Jared scowled. What office in the kingdom could he offer for such a crime?

Aida broke in on his reflections. "Send for him here, and I will dance before him, and when he covets me, say, 'Bring hither the head of Omer, the king, and I will give you my daughter for wife.'"

Fond father that he was Jared never doubted but what Akish would want Aida, but the thoughts of bartering her shot a pang through his heart. He would sacrifice his aged father for his soul's desire, but to give up his daughter, that was another thing.

After a silence, he said gently, "Have you thought, my child, that after this is accomplished there must come a day of reckoning?"

"What of it?"

"You are willing to pay the price?"

"Certainly," then hurriedly as the color crept into her face, "I am sick of these effeminate nobles with their perfumed locks, and if I am to have a master it must be one worth obeying. Akish is such a man."

As he watched her with half-closed lids, her father thought that it must be a strong trainer indeed to hold such a splendid tigress in leash; but when he thought of the cruel Akish, his heart was full of misgiving.

II.

AIDA DANCES BEFORE AKISH.

Akish stood at the gate of the gardens of Jared on the night of the banquet. In crimson tunic he leaned a vivid patch against the gray stone arch. A nearby torch illumined his figure, lean, brown and muscular. Black-eyed, hawk-beaked and cruel-lipped, he conveyed a suggestion of power that was felt in the magnetic personality of the man. A band of dull gold hung low over his brow, sheathing his glossy, black hair. Collar and sandals of the same material were the only ornaments he wore. As he surveyed the scene, a gleam came into his eyes for it was well calculated to stir a more sluggish soul than his.

Cruets of burning oil filled the gardens with soft radiance and changeful shade. Interspersed with these were braziers of incense whose aromatic smoke curved upwards in spirals. In the fountain the figure of a sea-nymph upheld a conch shell from which the water trickled. It ran into the swimming pool of blue-veined marble which in turn emptied itself into a miniature lake covered with lotus leaves and yellow water lilies. The lagoon was not entirely given over to white-necked swans and pink-legged flamingoes, for a dainty shallop lay moored to the shore as if inviting one to a trip to fairyland among the floating gardens of the lake. One tiny isle grew purple hyacinths, another yellow daffodils, a third flaunted gaudy tulips. In the somber green of the grove was caught the occasional gleam of the white magnolia and pomegranate blooms.

To one side was the aviary, filled with the strange and gorgeous-hued birds of the tropics; beyond, causing an instinctive shudder, were the many species of Central American snakes. The cages of the wild animals were still farther removed so the roars of their inmates would not disturb the ears of the diners. The banquet table was spread on the terrace which was gained by a magnificent sweep of stairs.

The stone glowed yellow, while the supporting columns were of marble, shot with amethyst. Even as Akish devoured the scene, the portals were thrown wide, and the guests thronged out upon the terrace. Throwing the loose end of his tunic across his shoulder, he strode forward.

The table groaned under its golden service, many of its dishes designed in grotesque forms of birds and animals. Overhead stretched a net from which roses fell upon the board. Akish found himself seated next to Aida whose presence he felt intuitively, before he looked at her. She wore a loose-fitting, white robe from which her bare arms emerged like alabaster. No ornament marred the purity of the throat, nor the poise of the head crowned with living night. The jade bangles which dangled from her ears only heightened the pallor of her skin.

"So I have met you at last," he murmured.

"I have known Akish long, by reputation," she flattered subtly.

"Three times have I seen you before, but ever failed to make your acquaintance."

"Three times? Twice only do I remember. Once as you rode by, leading your troops to battle, I thought that your eyes rested on me for a moment. Again in a little park in Heth you passed me with a group of gray-beards."

"But first I saw you bathing one morning in the pool at Ether's house in Heth. I noticed that you were the best swimmer among the women. I went back that afternoon and enquired of their guests only to find that you had left that day. As for the night in the park--after I went to the council with the old men, I excused myself, and hurried back to the park but you had gone."

"After you had passed I went home," she confessed.

He replied with a burning glance, and she saw her father watching them with furtive eyes from across the table.

A troupe of acrobats, assisted by deformed mountebanks, performed. A group of dancing girls, garlanded with flowers, went through a series of figures for the guests, while ever roses fell from above. Everyone did as he pleased as the banquet progressed. Some of the diners were stupid from gormandizing, others had partaken too freely of the intoxicating juice of the maguey. Aida tasted little of the rich meats before her, but Akish seemed possessed of a burning thirst which goblet after goblet of frothy mead failed to quench. His veins were on fire, and as he whispered in Aida's ear, he suddenly swooped to cool his hot lips on the clear expanse of her shoulder. But even as he clutched her she eluded his grasp and slipped away, leaving him with distended nostrils like blood-hound thwarted in pursuit.

Presently Jared, arising from his seat, announced, "My daughter has consented to dance for us." The guests crowded forward and waited expectantly, but then they were not prepared for the sight that greeted their eyes. Aida slowly made her way to the center of the terrace. As she emerged into the light, the spectators uttered an exclamation of horror, and Akish swore under his breath, for wrapped around her body were the thick coils of a snake.

A snood fastened over her brow made her head resemble that of the serpent, and her form, sheathed in green, writhed so with the monster that the watchers could scarce tell where one ended and the other began. Slowly the undulations of the snake-dance started. The onlookers watched fascinated, much as the shivering little monkeys are hypnotized by the dance of Kaa, the rock python, before they are devoured by him. Akish, with bulging eyeballs, crept nearer under the spell. The woman and the serpent swayed together; then out darted a white arm, followed by the glistening writhe of the snake. At times it seemed almost a battle between the two, and again it seemed as if the monster would hug her to death in its embrace. Finally, at a signal, two attendants rushed forward and helped disengage the python which seemed loath to leave its fair prey. As it was coaxed off, the audience heaved a sigh of relief. As the snake sheds its skin, so Aida threw off her outer robe, and emerged in roseate gauze of dawn-like hue. The music crashed into gayer strains. First the dancer depicted the awakening of love,--joy, bliss, rising to the delirium of ecstasy,--then languor, and when it seemed that she had fairly swooned away, her muscles became taut, and she arose to show the fury of love scorned. Snatching a dagger from her belt she brandished it in the air. Wildly she struck, faster and faster resounded the music, more passionate became her motion, until she was fury incarnate. She seemed a harlequin of the desert, as she struck right and left. Akish did not realize how near he was until she plunged the blade at him and he drew back with a cold sweat on his brow. Her vengeance seemed to rise to the height of black hate. Centering her strength she drove the dagger into her imaginary enemy, and the knife went clattering down on the pavement.

The dance was ended. The spectators broke into wild applause. Aida staggered toward the shade of the orange trees, and not realizing what he did, Akish plunged after her. He reached her just as she swayed and fell, with utter exhaustion, on his outstretched arm.

III.

FRUITION.

Lured on by the bait of Aida, Akish called the secret societies together and started his diabolical machinations, but the Lord warned Omer, in a dream, of his impending danger, with the result that the old king gathered his household together and departed secretly to the land of Ablom, where he pitched his tents by the sea-shore. Jared was anointed king by the hand of wickedness, and at the same time Akish was wedded to Aida.

If Jared loved power, Akish did more so, and his vaulting ambition led to the throne itself. He fretted inwardly; and, because such a nature must be active in evil, he began to lay his subtle plans to consummate his end. He must get Jared out of the way. By reason of his control of the secret organizations, whose members were bound by dread oaths, he was already a more influential man than the king. His marriage to Jared's daughter strengthened his position. Strangely enough, the thing that should have deterred him from the murder, consideration for his wife, confirmed his dire decision. Akish loved Aida as much as a nature of his kind is capable of, but mingled with it was a desire to domineer. He derived pleasure from torturing the beloved object. During their brief married life, he had been afforded some rare flashes of her temper, and he now saw a chance to quell the rebellion in her, and crush it with one blow.